


The Question of a Key

by MerryArwen (lalaietha)



Series: Clever Woman, Doctor's Wife [9]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:06:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalaietha/pseuds/MerryArwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mr Sherlock Holmes and Miss Mary Morstan have a conversation on a difficult topic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Question of a Key

It took a moment - at least half a moment - before Mary was sure there was someone behind her, matching her pace. She felt her spine straighten and her senses sharpen, and took a firmer hold of her (closed) parasol and her bag. She would not be in danger, she thought, glancing around: she was but one street from home and while yes, there were few people about at this hour, it being nearly dinner-time, one good solid scream from her would bring any number of family men pouring from the doors to see what was happening.

She walked as far as past one more house to be quite certain that the man behind was following her and not simply there by chance, before she stopped and rounded, ready to confront him with where he was, her respectability, and the help she could expect from the doors that surrounded them. Not to mention (and here her hands tightened just a touch more on what they held) that, fair sex or not, she was not entirely helpless.

Mary rounded - and then stopped, as before her stood a rather startled-looking (just for a moment, before "startled" was replaced by the "supercilious" he was so practiced at presenting) Sherlock Holmes, dressed for negligent elegance, complete with a rather old-fashioned, if very elegant, mathematical tied around his neck.

Her heart being very reluctant to return to its proper place beneath her breast-bone, Mary found herself snapping when she said, "Mr Holmes. You are, on occasion, a most inconsiderate man. What gentleman follows a woman so closely, without declaring himself to be a friend? You are fortunate I am not a timid creature, or I might have screamed before I chose to look at you and then what a ruckus there might have been!"

Mr Holmes, for his part, was now looking distant and quizzical. "You knew I was following you?" he asked, as if somehow that were unusual, or (for that matter) the most important part of this exchange.

"Of course I did," Mary retorted. "From the turn. And now I insist to know why." As soon as she said it, she felt a hollow open up beneath her stomach. "John isn't - "

"No, no, no," Mr Holmes cut her off with a wave of his hand, closing the distance to join her rather than continue to stare at her as if she were a particularly interesting butterfly under his microscope. "Nothing of so grim a nature, I assure you." Now next to her, he gestured, and said, "May I accompany you to your door, Miss Morstan?"

Mary eyed him for a moment, lips compressed. She was irritated with him, still, for the scare he had given her. And, in a larger sense, she was irritated with him for being himself. She was trying, indeed, making very great efforts to like him and to be understanding of him, because John loved him very much. It vexed her that he seemed dead set on making that very difficult for her.

Still. His careful use of her name reminded her that it would change, and very soon. And then, even more than now, Mr Sherlock Holmes would be a part of her life.

And, who knew? Perhaps he thought this was how one made an effort at being agreeable. Sometimes she wondered if he had been raised by wolves - and, generally just after, what his mysterious brother might be like, with his house in the country and his mysterious but terribly important place within the government.

"If you like, Mr Holmes," she replied, and he fell into step beside her.

"You must wonder," he said almost immediately, "why I've come to see you."

She did, but she felt once again as if she were in some kind of fencing match with Sherlock Holmes, and could not resist the parry or riposte. Not for the first time, she wondered what Aunt Emma would make of this man.

"Friends may visit one another," she replied, "and your hours have, to my knowledge, never run in harness with that of lesser men - no, Mr Holmes, what puzzled me was only why you chose to dog my steps instead of declaring yourself. We might both have had a much more pleasant walk from the corner, don't you agree?" And she tilted her head, to lift her chin to put just the barest touch of challenge to the milk-mild tone of her question.

To her surprise, only a touch of a wry smile came to Sherlock Holmes' lips. "A man in the throes of indecision occasionally waits to declare himself - and most people, Miss Morstan, do not know when I follow them."

Mary found herself momentarily at a loss, and for a moment Mr Holmes allowed the silence to stretch. Struggling with himself still, perhaps: he looked most intently ahead, yet did not seem to follow any of the movements of doors or birds that flitted within his view. Mary felt a touch of apprehension. This time, guided perhaps by a memory of Aunt Emma's lessons on how to manage clever men, she remained silent.

"You remember, of course," he said at last, "our dinner at the Royal."

"Your dinner," Mary replied, and then cursed herself silently with words stronger than she tended to use aloud. It was unfair of him to put her so easily on the defensive.

"Ah, yes. It was a magnificent exit, after the wine, by the way," Mr Holmes went on with equanimity. "And a magnificent response. I perhaps have neglected to ask your forgiveness for what prompted it, have I? To be protective of a dear friend is a habit of mine."

_ Save me, Aunt Emma, _Mary thought in a ludicrous and possibly blasphemous little prayer, but it worked: her unbalanced mind provided, "A maharaja's diamond, if perhaps in questionable taste as a ring, is certainly sufficient apology for a reconciliation, Mr Holmes," as a response.

His reaction was quite gratifying: he stopped and turned to look at her. "How did you know?" he demanded, suddenly sharp and intent instead of round-about and amused. Gratifying - but also unsettling, to be the sudden focus of his entire attention. His intensity was quite different from John's, and somewhat more frightening.

With all the calm and equanimity she could summon (which was, thank God, not inconsiderable), Mary replied, "I read both John's accounts of your cases and the newspapers, Mr Holmes." And then, on an impulse, she added, "If it comforts you, I haven't the faintest notion of how you came by it."

Sherlock Holmes examined her and she tried not to wilt under the scrutiny. After a pause, he said, "Irene Adler had it. I found the symbolism both fitting and amusing," and silenced Mary completely with his honesty.

He offered her his arm. She surprised herself by taking it, and they walked on in silence, until Mr Holmes once again broke it. "I mention the Royal on the chance that you recall one of the things I said to you about Watson while I was being defensive and suspicious."

"I have an excellent memory, Mr Holmes," Mary replied, when it seemed he was waiting for one. He struggled for a moment, she thought, as if unsure - no, as if he knew precisely what he needed to say, but loathed the necessity and was uncomfortable with the duty.

Finally, he said, "Since the second December of our partnership, I have kept Watson's cheque-book and most of his money locked in the drawer of my desk, which is opened by a key which he does not have. You need neither defend him nor assure me of his reformation, Miss Morstan," he went on immediately, and Mary found that she did indeed have her mouth open to say something - though what, she could not be sure. "A man must have some flaw or vice, lest he become insufferable, and the remedy for this one is at least simple. I am here today, and speaking to you on the matter, because in a day or two, he is going to come to you. He will probably be in a foul temper though knowing Watson as I do he will make every effort to conceal this from you. How candid he will be about his reasoning and what comes before, I do not know, but the final result will be his offering into your hands the financial management of your joint married estate. You have given me every indication of being a sensible woman, very practical and well-meaning, and I have no doubt that, though certain laws would have one believe that women are incompetent of financial skill and delicacy, that you will be equal to this particular task. I am here to ask you to take on that management without much argument - and to make sure," he said, finally, looking directly ahead, "that he continues to lack a copy of the key."

Mary could not answer. She was shocked, perhaps - but she found she was not astonished. And on even a moment's examination of herself, she found herself deeply touched - no, deeply affected - by both the care and the trust in this brusque, oblique charge, or request, or whatever one might call it. Still, she said, in a lower voice than was usual, "Is it really so bad, Mr Holmes?"

He glanced at her, smiling in a humourless way. "When ennui strikes me, Miss Morstan, I tend to drink, to invention, to music and the study of subjects obscure. Watson tends to gambling. This is a harmless enough vice in moderation - if you like, you may make an allowance for it; I always have, but I am told the morals of married women are much more strict, angelic creatures that you are - but Watson . . . " he paused, and as if selecting his words with care, said, "loses sight of what has already been lost, in the promise of what might be found."

The mind that Aunt Emma trained thought, in sharp perception, _and your cases are so different from his bets, then?_, but the woman still affected by the compliment of this man's trust did not say it. Instead, as they were so close to her door, she stopped and faced her companion.

Mary said, simply, "Thank you, Mr Holmes, for your company and your kind advice."

Sherlock Holmes bowed, mocking her exceedingly, but she forgave him for it. "Miss Morstan," he said, and then, "Give my regards to your mother and father."

Mary paused at the door, to watch him make his way away.

Then she gave some thought to which inoffensive, but suitable desk-drawer might serve the purpose.


End file.
